Good conversations with your ex is a bit like an extacy pill.
You tremble at the anticipation, you take it, you’re nervous at the start. It starts to work. Then you feel all warm and fuzzy and everyone is your friend, love abounds, the world is right and nothing can go wrong. You party all night.
Then the next few days are bleak, dark, dank and deep. You feel heavy, depressed, alone and isolated. Everyone is staring at you and you can’t think straight. A million things are going through your mind but you can’t grasp unto any single one.
That is actually pretty accurate of what I’m feeling now. After the euphoria of my long conversation with the xyf I’ve been feeling really down. There is no obvious explanation.
The conversation was good yes, but there were no expectations. The only reason it was so good was because we didn’t slam the phone down on each other (or click disconnect), so it wasn’t like I thought “yah! we’ll get back together again”.
Although, to be honest, I did ponder that silly idea several times. But it’s like playing snakes and ladders on a circular board – you can see how much you have to throw to get to the tallest ladder, and then how much to throw to make it to the end, only, on the end square is an equally long snake that takes you right back to square one.
The ladders are all the reason why we should be together, the tallest being my son. The snakes are all the reason why we can’t be together and goodness, are there many snakes on this board.
This morning she popped another bubble. She thinks my son coming here is not a good idea anymore. She’s been phoning me in reply to every email I’ve sent her recently, but for this momentous discussion she chooses the cowardly way of sending an email.
My reflex was to get angry. Pissed off. I wanted to cry. I want to see my son. But upon reflection, she’s right. It’s going to be very expensive; money that could be used for a host of other things like the little man’s education. Also, it will be difficult to juggle my obligations here and give him as much time as he deserves. At least with her he has the support of her family for when she’s at work.
I’m not a happy rave bunny, my pills are duds. Great highs, terrible lows. I don’t want to play anymore.